


5-For a Good Time, Call

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 3, What Was Old is New Again [5]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Drama, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-15
Updated: 2002-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruck's rambunctiousness backfires in a spectacular way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5-For a Good Time, Call

The halls of the Temple were quiet at this late hour and the two young men walking down them found it difficult not to disturb that peace. They didn’t appear to be Jedi at first glance; as a rule, Jedi didn’t wear pants that tight or shirts that colorful, or swagger quite the way these two did. Then one of them flung a long, thin braid over his shoulder and it became clear who they were: a couple of senior padawans returning from an excursion into Coruscant nightlife. One of them, red-haired and a little shorter than the other, stumbled, laughing, and the other put his arm around his waist and snugged him into a kiss, one that finally stopped them in the middle of the hallway as it became more involved. The other, white hair a stark contrast against his caramel skin, pivoted in his partner’s arms and backed him into the wall, pressing their groins together rhythmically as they kissed. In a moment, the two of them were groping one another and the kiss had become noisy as well as involved.

Finally, the redhead pushed the other away and continued down the hallway, flushed and smiling a little.

“Gods I hate it when you do that, Ben,” Bruck growled, catching him up. “You wind me up and just—leave. You cock-tease.”

“ _I_ wind _you_ up?” Kenobi replied in sarcastic disbelief. “Who shoved whom against the wall back there and started humping? Bloody exhibitionist, that’s what you are.”

“So come back to my quarters and we’ll finish it in private.”

“Bruck, I told you before we left that I can’t tonight. I’ve got class early tomorrow morning and a mission I’m worried about to prepare for and I’ve already stayed out too late. Little Gods! You’re insatiable! I said I’d come over tomorrow night—tonight, now—if I could, and I was with you last night. Go home.”

But Bruck continued to follow him, taking his hand but no more, looking both a little forlorn and a little guilty. Kenobi smiled and squeezed it just to let him know he wasn’t really angry. They walked on in a companionable if charged silence, and stopped a short while later in front of a door, its comm panel marked “Jinn/Kenobi,” where the latter turned and leaned forward, giving Bruck another kiss, this one much tamer.

“G’night. I had a great time, as usual,” he said, pulling away, hand reaching for the palm lock.

“That’s all I get?” Bruck asked plaintively.

Kenobi turned back and pulled his partner into a closer embrace, Bruck leaning against the wall with one hand, letting Ben’s arms slide around his waist as they kissed again, hungrily.

“C’mon, Ben, blow me,” the taller one murmured, nipping at his earlobe.

“What!” Kenobi pulled away so quickly that he banged his head on the door behind him. “Ow! Here? Right in the main hallway? You’re mad!”

Bruck nuzzled in under his ear, “Why not? Who's going to see us at this hour?”

“Bruck, you know the hours people come and go around here.”

“Just like the alley in back of the club. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that this is a brightly lit hallway in the Temple, not a dark alley in a sleazy area of Coruscant. Can you imagine if we got caught? We’d never live it down."

“Everyone’s asleep but us. There's nobody around."

“Forget it. Go home and jerk yourself off.”

"C’mon Ben. You’ve been teasing me all night. I want you—" He leaned in against Kenobi again, pressing him against the door, unsurprised to find his partner just as hard as he was. “I’m not the only one. You know you want it too.”

Kenobi gave a muffled groan, hips moving involuntarily against the weight and heat of Bruck’s body. He did want to, but there was no way he was going to do it here, right in front of his own door, in the middle of a public hallway in the Temple, no matter what the hour, and he said so. Again. Insistently. While kneading Bruck’s ass.

“C’mon, please? Just this once—"

“I said no, you bastard," Kenobi whined, even as he could feel his knees giving in. They saw so little of each other that it seemed cruel not to indulge his lover when they were together.

“Please, Ben, please,” Bruck hissed as Kenobi’s hands went to the fastenings at his waist. He closed his eyes in anticipation, bracing both hands against either side of the doorframe.

Then Kenobi was tumbling back away from him, to the sound of the door whisking open. Bruck’s eyes flew open a split second later, prompted by self-preservation instincts. Looming in the doorway was the large, shadowy figure of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, frowning thunderously with annoyance and wearing nothing but a threadbare pair of leggings. Half naked, he seemed twice as large as normal, and his usually neatly combed-back hair was loose and tangled, giving him the look of an angry, wind-blown storm god. Bruck stumbled back as Kenobi found himself on his butt on the floor, nearly between his master’s legs, having lost the solid surface of the door against which he’d been leaning.

“For Sith’s sake, Padawan,” Jinn snapped, “if you’re not going to suck him off, I’ll do it myself, if it will get you two to stop broadcasting it over the comm.”

Bruck looked down at Kenobi, whose face was scarlet and who was glaring at him and clearly projecting the words _I TOLD YOU SO_ into the air between them, then back up at Master Jinn, who, for a moment, seemed to be more amused than angry—but only for a moment. Rarely at a loss for words, rarely embarrassed in any situation, Bruck found he could only gape stupidly at first, and felt a flush of heat into his own face. “W-what— How—” he stammered finally.

“I believe you were leaning against the com call button, Padawan,” Jinn said archly, crossing his arms and doing his own bit of glaring.

“Oh gods,” Bruck moaned, shielding his eyes with one hand. This was _not_ how he’d wanted this evening to end. Not how he’d want any evening with Kenobi to end—with a thoroughly pissed-off Qui-Gon Jinn glowering at him.

“Nice going, B-boy,” Kenobi snarled, getting to his feet. “Very clever, that. Bloody walking comedy routine you are.”

“I suggest you both consider keeping your ruttings a little more private in the future—and much more discreet,” Qui-Gon advised sharply, stepping back from the doorway. “Good night, Padawan Chun. Obi-Wan?”

Miraculously released with only a few harsh words to lash him, Bruck sketched the suggestion of a bow, then turned and fled, face still flaming, as Obi-Wan followed his master into their quarters.

Once inside, Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, hardly certain whether to laugh or—or die of mortification. Then he heard Qui-Gon snort and looked up to see his master shaking his head.

“The two of you really are an accident waiting to happen,” he observed, pinching the bridge of his nose as though it pained him.

“Well, that was very nearly a three-vehicle smashup,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“You’re fortunate I was the only one who heard it. Imagine if it had gone over the general comm.”

The frisson of terror at that thought was enough to finish quelling the insistent erection that his fooling about with Bruck had raised. “No, you’re right. We were lucky. I’m sorry, Qui-Gon. We were very stupid.” He pushed off from the wall and headed toward the fresher, wanting to get out of his master’s presence as quickly as possible. Qui-Gon caught his arm.

“Obi-Wan, I really can’t let it pass so easily,” his master said, holding his arm firmly, regret and something very like pain in his eyes.

That brought Obi-Wan up short. They’d been idiots, he knew, but he hadn’t considered that what they had been doing might actually hurt Qui. He thought about it now, looking into his lover’s face. Gods, why wouldn’t it hurt him? Waking to find his younger lover kneeling on the floor sucking off another young man like a common whore, right in front of his own door, for anyone to see, no thought of how it might reflect on his master, or humiliate the older man.

“No, Qui, I suppose you can’t,” Obi-Wan agreed, suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry. It was rather cruel, wasn’t it?”

“And disrespectful.”

“Yes, Master. And undignified,” he admitted, bowing his head. “I submit myself for punishment.”

“I’ll speak to Bruck in the morning. In the meanwhile, on your knees, Padawan.”

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan answered, sliding back onto his knees, keeping his head down. He was puzzled when Qui-Gon stepped in closer, bare feet appearing in his field of vision. Then he felt fingers raising his chin, but not up to meet Qui-Gon’s eyes. Instead, he found himself confronted with a large bulge in the front of his master’s leggings. It was all he could do to suppress a grin.

“Finish what you started, My Padawan,” Qui-Gon ordered, stroking his fingers through his apprentice’s hair with a strange air of loss.

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan replied, enthusiastically reaching for the ties at his master’s waist and releasing Qui-Gon’s engorged cock from the constraining fabric. It was hard to keep the smile off his face and the pleasure out of his voice as he wrapped a hand around the straining organ. Clearly, Qui-Gon had been titillated overhearing them. “Are you sure this is really punishment, My Master?” he grinned.

“It will be, Obi-Wan,” the older man said seriously, all his own brief amusement gone. “Because you’ll be feeding it to Bruck through your bond. And then you’ll be sleeping alone for the remainder of the night. Get to work.”

Suddenly, the prospect didn’t look so appealing, as he realized what Qui-Gon was doing. _If all that matters to you is the sex in your other relationships,_ he seemed to be saying, _then that’s all you’ll have with me, as well._

It was, in a word, awful. Usually he enjoyed doing this for Qui-Gon—enjoyed pleasuring the man, enjoyed seeing and hearing him give himself up to it, enjoyed the taste and smell and feel, the way Qui-Gon’s cock had a mind of its own in his hands, enjoyed the physical challenge of taking the barrel of it in his mouth and throat and letting his lover fuck his mouth, come inside him, enjoyed licking him clean afterwards. Tonight, it choked him, and the act was pleasurable for neither of them, aside from the mechanical release of orgasm it allowed Qui-Gon, who merely stood stolidly, feeding nothing through their bond, making no sound or sign of pleasure as Obi-Wan worked him with his mouth and hands.

Obi-Wan’s link with Bruck was nothing as deep as the one he shared with his master, but it was enough that he was certain Bruck knew what he was doing, and how he felt about it. It was also something he had never done before. Though he’d somehow found himself with two lovers, he’d managed to keep liaisons with one separate from the relationship with the other. Neither was a secret, but there was no using one against the other, either. He realized now that he’d broken that boundary tonight. Unintentional or not, it must have hurt Qui-Gon, who was so careful not to flaunt his relationship with his padawan in Bruck’s face.

When he was finished, Obi-Wan cleaned his master gently, reverently, and tucked the flaccid organ back into the soft cloth, then put his forehead to the floor, feeling miserable. “I beg your forgiveness, My Master. I have wronged you,” he mumbled, voice a little choked. The taste of Qui-Gon’s cum lingering in his mouth was more bitter than it had ever been.

“It’s not your master you wronged, Obi-Wan, and it wasn’t entirely you alone,” Qui-Gon said sadly. “As I said, I’ll speak to Bruck in the morning. You’ve your choice of the couch or your old bed tonight.”

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan whispered as his lover walked away.

 

It was a very long night for all three of them, regardless of the hour the two younger men had come in, and how long the older had been asleep before.

In his own quarters, Bruck lay on his bed with the buzz of the lover’s bond he and Kenobi shared filling him with regret and sadness and the taste and smell of joyless, mechanical sex. Obi-Wan stayed where he was as the bedroom door closed behind Qui-Gon, feeling shamed at his behavior, and angry and disgusted with himself. It had been a very long time indeed since he’d found it necessary to spend any length of time on his knees, head pressed to the floor in abject apology. Someone else, or a younger version of himself, might have blamed Bruck for the position he was in now but Obi-Wan, at 25, knew very well he had no one to blame but himself. Bruck may have instigated it, but nothing had made him go along with it, and neither of them had been thinking very far ahead. Sometimes, he reflected, living in the moment was not the most appropriate approach, despite Qui-Gon’s usual advice.

And of all the times for something like this to happen, for him to pull some stupid stunt like this before this upcoming mission . . .

From the moment he’d heard the Council was sending Qui-Gon to negotiate this dispute between the government of Naboo and the Trade Federation, Obi-Wan had been filled with a nameless, undefinable unease. There were no clear visions associated with it, no true precognitive events, but the smell of burning and the memory of the pyre he had often seen in his early days as Qui-Gon’s lover haunted him now, and the Force felt wrong somehow, when he meditated on this mission and its objectives. Qui-Gon seemed to think the Nemoidians would be easy to deal with, that the negotiations would be perfunctory and the crisis would be over within a few days’ time. He also seemed to hold them in an uncharacteristic contempt, even after their experiences during the Stark Hyperspace War, an ugly episode not far enough in the past for Obi-Wan’s comfort. Like his master, Obi-Wan did not trust the Trade Federation or the Nemoidians, but Qui-Gon’s attitude seemed far too cavalier, no matter how well prepared they were for the negotiations.

And now he’d added to the things Qui-Gon could be preoccupied by with this stupid, selfish act. The last time he’d felt this ashamed of himself was after Melida/Daan. Apparently, he’d learned very little since then.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and settled himself into the discomfort of the position he was in, a discomfort made worse by the tightness of the pants he was wearing. _Serves you right,_ he thought. This was both a self-punishment and a self-inflicted penance and he would make good use of the time to meditate and examine his heart until Qui-Gon saw fit to accept his apology and release him from it, even if it took days.

In his own bed, the bed he was so used to sharing with Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon lay awake, staring into the darkness, missing the warmth of the lithe young man he loved so deeply in a way he never did when Obi-Wan was spending the night with Bruck. He knew very well that Obi-Wan would not sleep this night, that he would stay on the floor in the ritual bow of contrition until morning, and that he would have to let the young man suffer in it for a time even after he’d risen for the day himself. He hated the thought of it, despite what Obi-Wan had done. It was the act a padawan gave his master, not one a lover gave to the beloved, and that was the part of Qui-Gon that was hurt right now.

As a master, he felt he had accumulated quite enough dignity to survive nearly anything any padawan might get up to in the course of his training, and the Hundred Little Gods knew Obi-Wan had rarely gotten up to anything that could put more than a minor dent in Qui-Gon’s stature, even in Bruck’s company, Melida/Daan notwithstanding. After all, hadn’t he encouraged Obi-Wan’s relationship with Bruck for just that reason, hoping Obi-Wan might act more his own age and less his master’s?

The odd thing was, he could not quite pinpoint why he felt, well, wounded by Obi-Wan’s behavior. He knew quite well what Obi-Wan’s relationship with Bruck involved. While his apprentice was generally careful not to come home covered in lovebites or smelling of sex, Qui-Gon found he didn’t much mind that—even found it titillating—the few times it had happened. But there had been something truly painful about hearing them engaged in what amounted to foreplay on his own doorstep.

From one perspective, it was actually rather funny. He was sure Bruck’s master would have found it so, and in other circumstance, so would he. It wasn’t all that different from some of the things he and Mace had gotten up to, though they’d been younger, when . . .

He swallowed heavily, eyes prickling suddenly. Little Gods! Was he mourning his youth? Feeling the undeniable gap between Obi-Wan’s age and his own? Or merely having intimations of his own mortality? What an old fool.

But there was no escaping it. Had he been Obi-Wan’s age, had they been yearmates and caught outside his own door, he’d have acted quite differently, likely invited himself to the party, though he was not, as a rule, one for threesomes. But the days of those escapades were long over and every now and then something Obi-Wan said or did forcibly reminded him of that fact, quite unintentionally.

It wasn’t often he felt the gap between them, and it wasn’t often that he found it so painful when he did. Perhaps it was fear he truly felt now, not jealousy that was making him smart. This beautiful young man had been a light in his life for the last five years and perhaps what he had heard over the com tonight, or thought he had heard, was Obi-Wan in the process of moving on. He was so near his trials now, though he didn’t suspect it, and Qui-Gon was careful not to give him that impression because it didn’t do to go into them cocky. When he passed them, as Qui-Gon had no doubt he would, their relationship would change irrevocably. They would be peers at last and the only ties between them strictly voluntary. Obi-Wan might even elect to leave him—and who could blame him? Why should a young man with all his future ahead of him want to be shackled to one on the verge of senescence?

The idea was almost unbearable, and yet he knew in some sense Obi-Wan would leave him, even if they remained lovers. Their years of constant companionship were drawing to a close, whether they continued to work together as partners or not. Obi-Wan would need to strike off on his own, step out of Qui-Gon’s very long shadow, even if he needed to be pushed out for his own good. And somewhere, Qui-Gon would have to find the courage to do so.

In retrospect, he decided, he’d been too harsh, acting out of his own fears. There was no sense in making his lover suffer for his own melancholy ruminations. Really, all he wanted was Obi-Wan warm and close beside him tonight, not out there in the common room cutting off his circulation kneeling in those tight pants. He could kneel in those tight pants some other time, and for a shorter period, with another end in mind.

He sat up and was reaching for the light when he heard the front entry swish open and sensed Bruck’s presence. There were no whispered voices, and only a soft rustle from the other room. Qui-Gon listened closely for several minutes, hearing nothing, then opened his own door silently. In the dark of the common the two young men knelt in identical postures, side by side.

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to sigh and instead closed the door silently and went back to bed. Obviously, both of them had decided they were wrong and needed to be punished, and perhaps there was some truth to that idea after all, if Bruck felt it as well. Perhaps, there was something Qui-Gon wasn’t seeing. Very well, he thought. They’d chosen their courses, all three of them, and the act would have to be played out.

 

* * *

 

Morning found both young men still on their knees, heads to the floor, Obi-Wan where he had been left the night before, Bruck beside him. He’d come in quietly a few hours after Ben had first gone to his knees, slipping inside noiselessly and joining his friend in mutual misery and contrition. He couldn’t tell what Ben had spent the night meditating on, but he’d been considering his own thoughtlessness in great detail.

The incident, he decided, would have been hilarious in retrospect if it had been his own master who had caught them. Andreth Rallin’s sense of humor was earthy and a little crude, for all he was an accomplished—and rather strict—master. Qui-Gon had, in fact, been much better natured about it than Bruck had any right to expect, given the level of contempt he’d shown for the older man’s feelings. Master Jinn had never so much as hinted that he would prefer Bruck not see his own lover again. Instead, he had welcomed Bruck into their lives without hesitation, indeed with warmth and kindness. And this is how he’d been repaid. Bruck felt deeply ashamed of himself.

Qui-Gon emerged from the bedroom at his usual time, just after dawn, ignoring the two young men until he had washed and eaten and meditated at his usual mindful if efficient pace. The smell of food was making Kenobi’s stomach growl and it was all Bruck could do not to snicker, tired and numb as he was. His control felt all too ragged, as he was sure Ben’s did as well, for having spent the night sleepless in a cramped position.

Finally, he sensed Qui-Gon approaching and then stopping before them. “Padawans,” the master said gently.

“Yes, Master,” they acknowledged in a hoarse chorus, sitting up stiffly, blinking tiredly, bleary eyes still fixed on the ground. Bruck let Ben break the silence first, as was his right.

“Master, may I speak?” he asked.

“Yes, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied.

“This was not entirely Bruck’s doing,” he began haltingly.

“I’m aware of that, Obi-Wan. I heard you both very clearly last night. While your instincts were sound, your reasoning was faulty.”

“Yes, My Master. I realize that now.” Ben stopped again, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. He raised his face, though he had not been given express permission to do so, nor asked for it. “Qui-Gon, please, you know how much I love you, both of you . . .

Master Jinn reached out and cupped his padawan’s cheek in one large hand. It made his lover look very young, suddenly, to Bruck.

“Yes, I do know. And I knew last night. But that did not make it any less painful to listen to the two of you plotting to have sex with each other outside my door. Imagine how you would have felt if our positions had been reversed. How hard would it be to hear Bruck or me do the same thing with another, right in front of you?”

“It was cruel at best, I know. I just—”

“Master Jinn, please, may I speak?” Bruck interrupted, but with an uncharacteristic meekness, still not meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze, but brushing Ben’s knee in a gesture that meant _wait_.

“You may,” Qui-Gon replied, tone neutral yet expectant.

“I meant no disrespect to you last night, Master, but I failed to consider either the consequences or the meaning of my actions, and I let my emotions overrule my common sense. You’ve allowed me to share with you something—someone—very precious and I’ve abused that generosity. I don’t know what I can say or do to show you how sorry I am. I submit myself for punishment and ask you to forgive me.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a time and when he did speak, it wasn’t what Bruck expected to hear. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but not—this.

“You should know, Padawan Chun, that Obi-Wan belongs to himself, whether my apprentice—my lover—or no. I do not dictate with whom he may or may not share himself. All I ask is that he take his commitments, whatever they are and to whatever degree, seriously, and I ask that you honor them as he does, and I do. And that you honor him as I do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Jinn. Very clear,” Bruck replied. Qui-Gon was right. Ben’s master hadn’t been the only person he’d shown little respect.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, Padawan Chun,” Qui-Gon continued in a voice that sounded puzzled. “Frankly, it surprises me, because you’re otherwise a very discreet person. On the one hand, you won’t exhibit your drawings, especially those of Obi-Wan,” Bruck could almost sense Qui-Gon glancing at the one he’d been given by both young men, a drawing of Obi-Wan seated in front of his master, Qui-Gon’s hands on his shoulders, “and yet you’ll have sex with him—the most intimate of acts—in a public place where anyone might see you. Have you thought about that contradiction?”

“No, Master Jinn,” Bruck said, seeming stunned. “I, no, I hadn’t. It hadn’t occurred to me.” Pointed out to him now, it was certainly true, however, and ridiculously obvious. “I never intended to hurt you, Master Jinn. I—”

“I suspect that little demonstration wasn’t meant for me, Padawan, though it could have been staged more appropriately. You’ve got nothing to prove to me. We both know that. Who were you hoping might catch you, in front of my door? Or should I say, in front of Obi-Wan’s door?”

A long silence followed Qui-Gon’s question. Bruck knew the answer, but the name seemed welded onto his tongue. It was Ben who finally said it.

“Garen. His quarters are just around the bend. You were showing off for Garen. Was he due in last night? Is he even in Temple?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon answered for him. Bruck seemed struck mute.

“Little Gods, Bruck!” Kenobi exploded. “Why do you care? Garen’s not even speaking to me anymore.”

“Funny, he speaks to me every chance he gets,” Bruck gritted, clenching his fists inside his sleeves.

“Is it just Garen, or the rest of Obi-Wan’s friends as well?” Qui-Gon asked a little sharply.

Bruck flinched a little, caught himself and sat up straighter, though he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “Mostly Garen. The others just pretend I don’t exist.”

“So that wasn’t even about me last night. That was you saying, ‘Fuck you, Garen Muln. Kenobi’s not only my friend, but my fuck-toy, so you can kiss my ass.’ That’s what that was about, wasn’t it? Am I your trophy now?”

“Padawan!” Jinn snapped. “Enough!” His apprentice immediately put his head to the floor again, and stayed there. “It was something more than that, wasn’t it, Padawan?” The same word came out much more gently this time, aimed at Bruck.

“I—yes,” was all he could manage to get out. He could feel the anger radiating off Ben like an overheated engine part ready to slag, but nothing would come out. It was stupid, nothing but his own insecurity, his own selfishness, his own pride—

“Bruck?” Qui-Gon said gently. And all he could do was mirror Ben’s position on the floor, head down, hands tucked into his sleeves, eyes squeezed shut, breath squeezed out of him.

“What you were saying,” Ben’s master went on in the same gentle tone, but allowing him the false privacy of keeping his face hidden, “was something more like, ‘The best senior padawan in the Order likes me, loves me, makes love with me, to me. If I’m good enough for him, I’m good enough for the rest of you.’ Isn’t it, Bruck? You are not a trophy, Obi-Wan.” The younger man sat up once Qui-Gon had addressed him, eyes downcast; Bruck remained forehead to the floor where he was. “But you are a prize. I don’t think you’ve ever really seen that because being my lover seems to make you off-limits to the other padawans. Bruck’s the only one who has gotten close to you that way. And being associated with you—”

“—covers a multitude of sins,” Obi-Wan added with a dry, ironic twist in his voice but little humor. “Because I’m the Perfect Padawan.” For once, there was a note of self-disgust with the notion.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “What has Padawan Muln said to you, Bruck?”

He sat up again, hands still tucked into his sleeves, one gripping his own wrist, eyes focused on the floor. “I don’t, it doesn’t really matter, Master,” Bruck said in a barely audible voice.

“It might not matter to you, Bruck,” Qui-Gon told him, “though I suspect it does more than you care to admit. But it might make the difference to Garen between being a knight and not.”

“What?” The word, in varying tones of shock, surprise, and confusion, came simultaneously out of both himself and Ben.

“Teasing is one thing. Bullying and harassment another, especially at your age. If Padawan Muln hates you as much as I suspect from your description of his behavior and his past performances with you, he has a good deal of emotional growth to catch up on, and not much time for it before his trials. Perhaps his behavior is something his master needs to be made aware of.”

A shudder of panic went through Bruck, followed by a wave of relief. It wasn’t like the last time. It wasn’t just him and Ben and Ben’s friends. With Qui-Gon involved, it had become a training issue, to be dealt with between masters. The Council would probably say nothing to Bruck about stirring up trouble, keeping out of Muln’s way, and keeping his nose clean. And he hoped this would end it. Then maybe he could stop acting like such a jerk himself, always trying to prove himself with Ben or Ben’s friends.

“Does your master know about this, Bruck? About Garen’s behavior?”

“No, Master. I didn’t think it worth mentioning.”

“Did you know about it, Obi-Wan?”

“No, Master,” Ben replied, sounding both hurt and angry. “I’d have had a few words with Garen myself if I had. I wish you’d told me—”

“Hush,” Qui-Gon said, and Ben subsided, still angry. “You’ve done nothing to provoke him? Other than just being seen with Obi-Wan? Nothing like this little stunt last night?”

“No, Master,” Bruck replied, not bothering to deny he’d been trying to provoke Garen, even though he didn’t think he had. It would look that way, regardless. And perhaps some part of him had been.

“He seeks you out?”

“Or we run into each other in the course of classes or sparring or eating. I try to steer clear of him. Sometimes it even works.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Very well. I’ll have a word with your master, and Padawan Muln’s as well. In the future, it would do you well to remember that you have a master who cares about you, and friends, including me, Bruck. Honor is satisfied.”

Bruck bowed deeply once again, this time looking up into Qui-Gon’s face. The expression he found there was a kind and a little sad. “Thank you, My Master. I will remember that. There’s just one more thing, Master Jinn. May I?” Bruck said. Qui-Gon nodded and Bruck turned to face Obi-Wan, shifting around on his knees until he had room enough to bow and press his head to the floor in front of his friend. Surprised, Kenobi let him stay that way for what seemed like an eternity, before touching his shoulder, when it became clear he wouldn’t rise again until given permission.

“Bruck . . .”

The other young man sat up on his heels again and tucked his hands into his sleeves contritely. “I have wronged you, Padawan Kenobi. I sought to persuade you to do something you knew was both wrong and hurtful, for my own ends, without thought for yourself or any others it might injure. I beg your forgiveness.” He bowed again and stayed down until Ben touched his shoulder once more, almost immediately.

“It wasn’t entirely your fault, love,” Ben said quietly, the look on his face a mixture of disgust and chagrin. “It’s not the first time I haven’t had the courage of my convictions. I hope it will be the last, though. You’ve taught me a valuable lesson.” Obi-Wan bowed in return. “Honor is satisfied.”

“Both of you come and eat now,” Qui-Gon added.

As simply as that, it was resolved, though the repercussions lingered.

Bruck experienced the first of them almost immediately, as he and Ben cleared up before going off to start their days.

“I don’t suppose I’ll being seeing you tonight after all, will I?” Bruck asked hopefully, loading their dishes in the clean box and setting the timer on it.

Kenobi looked over at him with a sad and regretful smile. “No, it doesn’t seem right somehow. I wish—”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ben answered, looking troubled. “You know we’re leaving tomorrow. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Not seeing each other, or the mission?”

“Both. I just have a bad feeling about it, about the mission, about leaving you.”

“They’re sending you two off to negotiate the trade blockade at Naboo?” Kenobi nodded. “I’d heard that, but wasn’t sure. Have you talked to Qui?”

Annoyance crossed Ben’s face. “Unless it’s more definite than a bad feeling, he has no patience for it. ‘Keep your mind on the moment, Padawan,’ is all he’ll say. But I wish he’d turn this one down. Stubborn old coot.”

“Well, you’ll have to watch his back, then. We’re off, too, in a couple of days. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Next time,” Kenobi agreed, laying a hand on his neck and drawing him in for a kiss that was warm and sweet, if not particularly passionate. That was all right, considering whose rooms they were in.

“I’m sorry, Ben. I screwed this all up,” Bruck said quietly as they pulled back a little, leaning their foreheads against each other. Kenobi’s hand was still warm and a little possessive on his neck.

“Took two to do it. Maybe three. I still wish you’d told me about Garen. I never knew he was being such a—”

“Ben, promise me you’ll let our masters handle Garen. I don’t want you getting in any more trouble over this.”

“Promise,” Kenobi said after a brief hesitation, then grinned, letting go of him. “Only because Qui-Gon’s more intimidating than I am.”

“Something the Perfect Padawan fails at? You shock me.”

Kenobi snapped the dish towel at his ass. “Come on. I’ll be late for class.”

They parted outside the door as they should have the night before, with a quiet embrace and another warm kiss. “Would it be okay if I saw you off tomorrow? Or would you rather I didn’t?” Bruck asked.

“I think that’s acceptable. I’ll send you the schedule and docking bay number. It’s early, though.”

“See you then,” Bruck nodded, and watched Kenobi walk away, thinking about his premonition. He’d definitely see them off tomorrow, no matter what time they were leaving. It might be the last time they saw each other.

 

* * *

 

Having spent much of the day reviewing the mission materials and the remainder of the later afternoon meditating in the gardens, Obi-Wan returned to his quarters to find Qui-Gon just putting aside the same materials and settling down for his own meditations. “I’ll start dinner,” Obi-Wan informed him, and disappeared into the kitchen. By the time his master was through, Obi-Wan had a light meal prepared and had opened a good bottle of wine to go with it.

Qui-Gon sat down to the table and examined the label, raising his eyebrows. “That wasn’t necessary, Padawan.”

“I’d been saving it. This seemed like a good reason to open it. I want you to know how much I love you.”

Qui-Gon reached across the table and caught his young lover’s hand. “I do know, Obi-Wan. I said this morning that honor was satisfied. I meant it then, and now.”

“Thank you.” He turned up his hand and squeezed the long, blunt fingers, then reached to pour a glass for his master.

Qui-Gon went through his usual ritual of sniffing, swirling, and examining the wine before taking a sip. “Very nice,” was the verdict. Then he touched his glass to Obi-Wan’s. “My Padawan.”

“My Master,” Obi-Wan answered.

“My love,” they chimed together.

“I spoke to both Bruck’s and Garen’s masters today,” Qui-Gon said after savoring the first few mouthfuls of wine and food in appreciative silence, followed by equally appreciative comments. “I imagine both of them will get a lecture of varying degrees of severity this evening. Garen’s master wasn’t unaware of the problem, but didn’t realize he’d begun actually harassing Bruck.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been doing it at every opportunity since that tournament bout where he broke Bruck’s sternum. Garen’s not liked the fact of our relationship since it started.”

Qui-Gon looked at him quizzically. “Is he in love with you? Jealous?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. After you’ve pointed out what a prize I am, it’s hard to be sure,” Obi-Wan grinned. Then the grin faded. “Garen . . .” Obi-Wan paused, choosing his words carefully. “Garen has a very strong sense of loyalty, and of right and wrong, a very narrow and unforgiving one. In his terms, Bruck’s errors are so monstrous that it’s not possible to forgive him, regardless of mitigating circumstances, or what he’s done since then. To tell you the truth, he’s always been a bit holier than thou—Garen, that is, not Bruck.”

“No, Bruck, I’m afraid, thinks far too little of himself, behind that bravado.”

“Yes, he does,” Obi-Wan agreed sadly.

They discussed the up-coming mission over the remainder of dinner and the clearing up, Obi-Wan reiterating his uneasiness, and Qui-Gon again shrugging it off. “If you have something concrete, something like Graffias, by all means, share it, Padawan. Otherwise, keep your mind focused on the moment, in the here and now.” Only years of the best and most intense diplomatic training kept Obi-Wan from rolling his eyes or mouthing the words along with his master. Instead, he finished their packing and settled beside his master on the lounge to review the mission information one last time.

Finally, Qui-Gon turned off his datapad and gathered Obi-Wan to him. “Come to bed, love. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“I have one more thing I’d like to do, before we go to sleep,” Obi-Wan murmured, leaning up for a taste of Qui-Gon’s lips.

“And what might that be?” his master smiled when he could speak again.

Obi-Wan slithered out of the older man’s grasp and onto his knees, squirming between his lover’s, resting his hands on Qui-Gon’s thighs. “I don’t want us to go into this mission with what we did last night my most recent memory of sex with you,” he breathed, leaning forward over the slowly rising bulge beneath the thin cloth of his master’s leggings. “Because it wasn’t making love. I want to do it right. How it should be done.”

“Oh, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon murmured, brushing his cheek with blunt fingertips. “Not here. In our bed.”

“When and where and as you like, _iji aijinn_ ,” Obi-Wan acquiesced, rising.

A short while later, they were divested of clothing and settled in bed, Qui-Gon on his back, Obi-Wan kneeling between his legs, gently stroking down the inside of the bigger man’s thighs. “Tell me what you want, Qui. Tell me how to please you tonight.”

“I love your mouth on me, Obi-Wan. Anywhere, everywhere. That’s what I want. Just your mouth, no hands.”

Obi-Wan leaned up, palms on either side of his lover’s lean body, bringing their lips together in a slow, increasingly warm kiss, one that started chastely and ended wide-open and sloppy, with nibbles and licks and moans, as their tongues moved against each others, over and around, pushing back and forth. The kiss moved on, to the spot under Qui-Gon’s ear that always made him inhale sharply, and he did so now as Obi-Wan sucked heat and blood to the surface there. He traced the thin whorls of the ear above it with the tip of his tongue, delved inside to tickle just for a moment, then bit down on the lobe below and suckled it gently. “I love the way you smell, the way your skin tastes when you’re hot for me,” Obi-Wan whispered into his lover’s ear before abandoning it to tug at the beard on his master’s jaw with his teeth and then give the long throat behind it an equally long lick. Qui-Gon moaned helplessly and shivered, reaching for him.

“No, no hands, you said. Keep yours to yourself as well. Just lie back and enjoy it. Let me do for you, let me please you, Qui.”

His mouth followed the ridge of collarbone across Qui-Gon’s shoulders, nibbling at it until he reached the hollow between them, then dipping his tongue into it as though it were a shallow cup with something sweet in the bottom. Obi-Wan could feel the rumble of his lover’s delight as he groaned, raising his chin, arching under the touch. Obi-Wan slid the tip of his tongue up the long column of throat once more, over the pulse of heat and blood and back down over the knob of cartilage that bobbed as Qui-Gon swallowed heavily, ending with a gasp as Obi-Wan nipped and sucked at the skin over his windpipe, leaving a string of lovebites behind.

He kept moving this time, down the center of Qui-Gon’s chest, nuzzling and licking and tasting the heat and need in the warm skin beneath his tongue until his lover’s hands came up again to direct him. Obi-Wan caught his wrists and pinned them to the bed. “No hands. Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth on my nipples. Biting. Sucking.” Qui-Gon’s voice was graveled with desire. “I’ll tell you when to stop, what to do.”

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, enjoying the rush of blood to his own cock at Qui-Gon’s brusque commands, and brought his mouth down obediently on one rose-brown nipple, already peaked in arousal. He bit hard, earning a gasp and deep groan, Qui-Gon pushing up against his mouth, bit again and then sucked, flicking his tongue across the stiff pebble hot and swollen between his teeth. He left that one to bite and tug at the other until Qui-Gon was growling and bucking against him. “Down! Between my legs,” he barked. “Not my cock.”

“Yes, My Master.” Obi-Wan paused a moment to nuzzle into the musky dark curls at the base of Qui-Gon’s heavy shaft, giving the base of it a small lick that made both the man and the instrument jump and Obi-Wan smile with satisfaction. Then he turned his attention to the heavy scrotum already drawing up close to it, and sucked the large orb of testicle nestled inside into his mouth. Qui-Gon shuddered beneath him, thighs tensing, hands clenching in the sheets. “Little Gods, Obi-Wan,” he breathed. “Your mouth is so hot. So hot,” he moaned. “More.”

Obi-Wan sucked harder, running his tongue over the sweat-tanged, textured flesh in his mouth. Qui-Gon cried out in what might have been pain although his movements indicated it was more likely pleasure. His words a moment later only confirmed it. “Obi-Wan! Gods! More!”

He tugged gently away from Qui-Gon’s body, first one testicle then the other cradled against his tongue, watching the big man shudder beneath him, brought so near to climax and then kept from it, breath harsh in both their chests.

“I love to see you like this, Qui,” Obi-Wan panted. He was so hard that it was painful, but Qui-Gon was struggling beneath him and there was nothing more beautiful, or more worth waiting for. His own climax would keep, if he were careful, and would be all the more intense for it. “Tell me what you want, love.”

“You,” Qui-Gon growled, his eyes black pools ringed with indigo, muscles tense and trembling. “That hot mouth around my cock. Slowly.”

“As my master wishes,” Obi-Wan bowed, brought by the gesture into proximity with the object of desire. He ran just the tip of his tongue beneath the crown, again making both his master and his master’s cock twitch, then closed his lips over the crown, swirling his tongue over it, pushing back the already tight foreskin, probing into the slit and tasting pre-cum. Qui-Gon gasped, arching into him, but Obi-Wan drew back, keeping just the crown between his lips and sucking, only slowly moving down over the length of the shaft. He held his lover’s hips pinned against the mattress, though Qui-Gon bucked against him, and in tiny increments took the long, thick, throbbing shaft into his mouth, letting it fill him.

By the time the crown hit the back of his throat, Qui-Gon’s fingers were clenched so hard in the sheets that Obi-Wan was afraid they would tear, his master trembling everywhere with the effort of holding himself back. It was clear he wanted to thrust into Obi-Wan’s mouth, and just as clear that he wanted to be stopped from doing so. “Obi-Wan!” he growled, panting between the syllables. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!” like a chant, “Obi-Wan!” beyond directions or coherence, the only word he could say his lover’s name.

Taking several deep breaths through his nose and hoarding the oxygen, Obi-Wan relaxed his throat and guided the thick shaft into it slowly until he had taken it all in and Qui-Gon’s testicles were nestled up against his chin. Beneath him, the big man was shaking as though in the throes of a fever, growling deep in his throat. It sent a thrill through Obi-Wan that his lover sounded like some wild animal.

Obi-Wan swallowed around what felt like a burning log in his throat, once, twice, again, again, tongue pressing hard against the base of the cock quivering in his mouth to slow his lover’s orgasm. Reduced to speechlessness, Qui-Gon could only moan now. Obi-Wan stopped for a moment, which tore a ragged “No . . .Please—let me . . .” from his master, the sound of which nearly made Obi-Wan erupt himself. Qui-Gon’s voice was so full of need and desire that it brought tears to his eyes. He swallowed again, hard, and Qui-Gon cried out and tore loose from his grasp, arching up into him, carrying them both up off the bed as he came with an animalistic roar, holding him down and fucking his mouth wildly until he was spent, which seemed to take forever. Qui-Gon’s cum filled his mouth and throat, the smell of it forced into his sinuses, the taste salty and bitter and yet so wonderful in his mouth and on the back of his tongue as the big cock subsided and he drew up off it and licked his master clean. Not a drop had been spilled on the sheets.

Beneath him, Qui-Gon lay sprawled bonelessly, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat, more beautiful than anything Obi-Wan had ever seen, but he was hard and aching and needed to come. “Let me in, Qui,” he growled, need making him more insistent than he usually was. Qui-Gon’s arm flopped to the bed, revealing hooded, sleepy, sated blue eyes. “Take what you need, my love,” he said in a voice raw with pleasure and satiation, handing Obi-Wan the small bottle of oil that resided on the bedside table. “Whatever I have left is yours.”

Obi-Wan grinned ferally, knowing his master all too well. He dared not stroke himself more than once to lay down a slick coating, but he took some care preparing his master, knowing how little control he would have. But it wasn’t long before he was pressing himself inside the tight heat of his master’s body, Qui-Gon’s legs hooked over his elbows. There was no finesse to this act, yet he was rewarded with Qui-Gon’s hiss of pleasure as he was entered, and his cock beginning to fill again. He stroked himself as Obi-Wan slid inside and held himself there, trembling over his master, hips rocking minutely. “Don’t hold back, love,” Qui-Gon told him. “You won’t hurt me.”

Obi-Wan leaned down and gave his master a punishing kiss, forcing his tongue into that hot mouth, laying claim to it as he drove himself inside the tight, welcoming body beneath him. A short moment later, he broke away, the pounding rhythm he’d set demanding more air than he could get in that kiss. Qui-Gon’s hand on his own hardened cock matched him stroke for stroke as they moved with and against each other. “Oh—Gods! Qui! So tight—Oh! Come with me—Come—No! No! No!” Obi-Wan cried out, eyes flying open as he came as hard as his master had, shuddering with his release as Qui-Gon pulsed around him, coming with him only a moment later.

Afterwards, having briefly wiped each other down, they lay together, Obi-Wan inside the circle of his master’s arms, the musk of their lovemaking still clinging to them. Despite the blissful satiation that had settled over both of them, Obi-Wan could not shake the vague sense of something that felt too much like fear.

“That’s certainly a better memory to leave with than the night before, love. Thank you,” Qui-Gon said and kissed his forehead. “Sometimes I wonder why our bed doesn’t catch fire—”

Almost frantically, Obi-Wan put his fingers to Qui-Gon’s lips, silencing him. “Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Please, not now. Not tonight.”

Qui-Gon frowned for a moment, then kissed his lover’s fingers. “One of your visions, love? Is that what has you worried about this mission?”

“Yes, and no. Or, more precisely, yes, and I don’t know. I used to see what I thought was our bed on fire, with you in it. Then I realized it was a pyre, your body burning, alone, without me beside you. I never want to see that, Qui. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You could, if you had to, my love. You’re stronger than you think you are. Do you know it’s connected to this mission?”

“Oh, Qui, you know it doesn’t work that way.” Agitated now, Obi-Wan sat up, circling his knees with his arms. One of Qui-Gon’s large, warm hands caressed his bare back, the calluses on his palms and fingerpads like fine sandpaper, the touch soothing and affectionate. “I’ve told you all I know already. This mission just doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know why, or in what way. That’s partially why I wanted to spend this night with you, and not with Bruck. I think I would have begged off even if he and I hadn’t been so stupid and hurtful last night.”

“You’re afraid this might be our last night together.”

His thoughts given breath, Obi-Wan shuddered, suddenly cold. “I don’t know, Qui. I’m just—afraid. Promise me you’ll be careful. That you won’t do anything foolish.”

“I will be careful, Obi-Wan. But I will do what I must for the mission, as well.”

His apprentice sighed. “Stubborn old fool. You always do.”

“I’ll be careful, love,” Qui-Gon assured him, gently pulling Obi-Wan down beside him again. “But if my time is near, I at least have the consolation of having had you for five very wonderful years. I have much to be grateful for and I will go into the Force content, knowing I was well loved, and that you will be too, in my absence. And you must let me go knowing I will always be with you, no matter what.”

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, keeping his own counsel. He pressed himself closer to his lover knowing there was nothing he could say to change Qui-Gon’s mind about this mission, but at least he had spoken his own mind this time. He, too, would do what was necessary, when and if the time came.


End file.
